On New Years Eve, my high school friends discovered some schoolwork
in the bag I had brought on our trip. Having finished their semesters
long before, they made disparaging comments regarding Old Nassaus
calendar and proceeded to celebrate the New Year without a care in the
world. I, on the other hand, had dozens of pages worth of cares to think
about and translate into something resembling carefully written English
by Deans Date, Tuesday, January 13.

As things go, I ended up not thinking much about those cares over winter
break, and it was only on the train ride back to Princeton that the implications
of my unopened books became clear. Stepping off the Dinky in early January,
I, like many others, arrived at Princeton accompanied by a rising sense
of panic.

However, college students believe in the motivational power of stress,
and many of us wait for the last possible second to begin work on our
piles of papers, in this case those due by 5 p.m. the 13th.

To nurture stresss motivational power, students have developed
an array of procrastination tactics; the most common is to talk endlessly
about how much work there is. How many pages do you have?
replaces How are you? as the days customary greeting.
This is not an actual query as to the length of your friends assignments;
rather, the purpose is to show solidarity: My, what a lot of work
we all have to do.

As the due date approaches, however, more and more work is actually
done. Twenty-four hours before the deadline, students begin the final
push, a frenzy of activity that makes for one of the most bizarre days
of the semester.

Deans Date Eve begins after dinner on Monday. At 7 p.m. there
is not a single seat available on the third floor of the Frist Campus
Center. The study lounge is silent except for the clacking of keypads
and the dull hum of iPods.

Below, Café Viv is also packed, but more boisterous. At one table
freshmen discuss the wisdom of relating Hamlet to reality television,
while at another seniors, their enthusiasm for such gimmicks spent, drearily
type on. The stereo system provides an eclectic soundtrack, playing Hootie
and the Blowfish, Ella Fitzgerald, and something best described as New
Age, Mexican pseudo-opera.

Ten minutes before 2 a.m., a small crowd gathers outside Café
Viv for the free food the Campus Center has promised. By 2:07 a.m., cups
and napkins have tantalizingly appeared, but nothing edible. At 2:10 a.m.
a basket of bagels materializes, followed by trays of pastries, pizza,
and industrial-size coffee tanks. By the time the trays reach the table,
the crowd already has helped itself to most of their contents, and students
who have patiently stood in line jostle to the front to scoop up the rest.
One ill-mannered individual grabs a box of pizza, claiming he has friends
with whom to share. Karmic retribution is quick, however; he opens the
box to discover nothing but cold, soggy garlic rolls.

Around 3 a.m. the ranks of writers thin, though when I return to Frist
the next morning  woken by a diabolically timed fire alarm 
it seems a number of people have never left. One girl, her face pressed
against her keypad, has at least not lost any sleep over the matter.

By afternoon, increasing numbers of people have finished, and a crowd
forms around the Canyon of Heroes  the sidewalk leading
to McCosh down which deadline-pushers run to make the 5 p.m. cutoff. Around
4:30 the Univer-sity band begins playing, and pizza, hoagies, and cocoa
are delivered, courtesy of the Office of the Dean of Undergraduate Students
and the junior class.

By 4:45, students delivering papers to McCosh are walking briskly. Around
4:50 a few joggers appear, receiving enthusiastic support from the crowd.
At 4:56 the sprinters arrive, hurtling down the canyon to
the joy of the spectators, some of whom have brought staplers for their
less-organized classmates.

At 5 p.m. the crowd disperses, some into the Chapel, which begins to
reverberate when musicians pound 150 drums, helping release the tension
of tired, but happy, Princetonians.

As students drift off to dinner and Prospect Street entertainments,
a festive mood hangs in the air. Perhaps this is why Princeton organizes
its schedule so strangely, to preserve the quirky character of this most
bizarre day. Though we worry and work through the end of December and
into January, it all seems worth it when you run through the McCosh Courtyard,
hand in your paper, and, finally, are done.

Tom Hale 04, from Rhode Island, is a Woodrow Wilson School major.

On the Campus Online: Go to www.princeton.edu/paw to read Oxonians
into Princeton mix, by Jennifer Albinson 05.